


One shot, one gunshot, and bam

by Roxie Ann (pluvial_poetry)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluvial_poetry/pseuds/Roxie%20Ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has been in this business for a long time. He knows an impossible dream scenario when he sees one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One shot, one gunshot, and bam

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd

Arthur's first thought upon arriving at Eames' hotel suite to go over the latest backgrounds on the mark and his associates, and having him answer the door undressed is understandably an annoyed, "I should have just emailed him the details."

Eames is standing there fresh from the shower, skin damp and his hair plastered to his head in a way that shouldn't be ridiculously attractive but somehow is. So Arthur's second thought, perhaps also understandably, is, "Jesus fucking Christ."

Arthur has been in this business for a long time. He knows an impossible dream scenario when he sees one. Him in Eames' hotel room and Eames in a towel.

Though he's annoyed that he needs to, Arthur takes a moment to check his totem. But a quick roll of the die on a side table tells him this is still reality despite the fact that things seem to be moving in slow motion and a shaft of sunlight from one of the suite's picture windows has Eames spotlit.

Eames is on the phone as he waves an impatient hand at him, beckoning Arthur to follow him into his suite. Arthur's Uzbek is rudimentary at best, but distracted, he can't pick out a single word. He watches an errant drop of water make its way down Eames' sternum, licking his lips unconsciously as his cock goes half-hard.

And of course Arthur has always been attracted to Eames in that absentminded way that he's attracted to anyone who is sexy, competent, and clever. Parts of a whole, but not the whole itself. It didn't have to be Eames then. But now, irritatingly enough, it couldn't be anyone else.

Arthur blames the towel.

It's clearly a hand towel, not meant for the job it's doing. The ends barely reach around to fasten together at the jut of Eames' hipbones. It's straining over the high curve of his ass, an indecent amount of broad thigh muscle is showing. And if Arthur tilts his head, he would swear that he can see the tip of Eames' cock peeking from underneath the white cloth as he moves around the room.

"Alright, Arthur?" Eames is giving him a strange look. Arthur snaps to attention, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension. He nods slowly and Eames goes back to his phone conversation.

 _It's a bad idea_ , Arthur reminds himself distantly. _It's_ Eames.

And they've recently reached a kind of détente in their relationship as they began to work with each other more frequently, with Arthur not pushing and Eames not pulling away. So while their professional relationship still can't be termed easy, it is at least, less _charged_.

Or it has been until this moment.

"Eames," he says, and whatever is in the tone of his voice has Eames hanging up the phone mid-sentence and switching to a defensive stance the second before Arthur tackles him to the ground.

It might be a sign of how far they've come together that Eames simply goes lax and lets Arthur take him down.

"This is a surprise." Eames says from the floor, pursing his lips thoughtfully and throwing the phone aside.

"Is it?" Arthur asks because he has doubts that Eames is ever surprised. He plans for every possible outcome and for some that are impossible. There were times when Arthur would have called that his only redeeming feature.

Arthur knows better now. He's running his hands over cool skin, pressing his tongue against the lines of ink that scroll around Eames' clavicle and wrap around his left nipple. Eames makes a gratifyingly sharp sound as Arthur takes that nipple between his teeth, his hips pressing forward to hold Eames in place.

"Perhaps only the timing." Eames says, his voice gone heavy and thick with a layer of arousal mixed with sarcasm.

Arthur could offer reassurance, should offer it, but he's thinking about all the things he wants to do to Eames, all the things he wants to have done to him, and most importantly, that it has to be now.

So Arthur says simply, "It needs to be now."

And he ducks down, drags his tongue along Eames' stomach muscles, delighting in the way they quiver under him. It must be reassurance enough because it makes Eames smile at him, his crooked front teeth on display. He props himself up then on his elbows, blatantly enjoying the sight of Arthur sliding down his body.

The towel opens at the slightest touch of Arthur's fingers, and he finally gets the full view, Eames naked and as hard as he is. Eames takes a deep, steadying breath in as his erection brushes against Arthur's parted lips. Arthur smirks, holding himself up on one arm, using the other to toy with Eames' foreskin. He slides it back gently to expose the rosy, wet tip of Eames' cock, still just a hairbreadth away from his mouth. Arthur licks his lips, gets them wet. Eames curses under his breath as Arthur's tongue grazes over him.

If Arthur had ever thought of this moment before, he would have imagined teasing Eames, going slow and steady until Eames begs him, because Arthur would want to savor it. All the denial, all the tension, all the want, coming to this. He would want it to last.

But he couldn't have anticipated (if he had ever thought of this moment before) how turned on he would be, how his mouth would water, how badly he'd want the taste of Eames on his tongue. And then Eames slides his fingers into Arthur's hair, gripping tight, and Arthur can't imagine wasting any more time.

Arthur puts a hand around the base of Eames' cock at the same time he slides his mouth down to meet it. He takes Eames in, sucking tight, his tongue lavishly rubbing the underside. It's probably the sloppiest blowjob he's ever given, Eames' cock is already soaking wet where Arthur's hand is stroking him, slick and easy.

Eames falls onto his back, and he's trembling. Twisting Arthur's hair in his fingers, like it's a struggle not to just hold Arthur's head down and fuck his throat until he comes. And he's so fucking sexy like this, breaking apart from Arthur's mouth on him. Arthur's dick twitches, he's leaking precome all through his underwear; he feels them clinging to him, damp and sticky.

Eames is chanting Arthur's name over and over in that ridiculous voice of his, he doesn't even seem to realize it. It only takes another two quick bobs of Arthur's head before Eames tenses underneath him, flushes from his cheeks down to his chest. His dick pulses abruptly in Arthur's mouth, and he's coming thickly across Arthur's tongue, the taste of him bitter. And Arthur's barely finished swallowing before he pulls back, drops of semen escaping onto his lips. Grinning at the way Eames moans when he licks it off, Arthur kneels up, fumbling with his belt, and then the button and zip of his pants.

Arthur gets his dick out, and it feels amazing, just to wrap a hand around himself, with Eames laid out in front of him, chest heaving, still panting for air in the wake of his orgasm. Arthur strokes himself, brisk, sure strokes, desperate now to get off. Eames struggles up onto an elbow, reaches out, his eyes still a little dazed. One of his large hands slides over Arthur's, better than anything Arthur could have thought to want. And it pulls Arthur right over the edge, he comes at the touch, biting down on his lip, a strangled noise escaping him as he makes a mess all over Eames' clean skin.

Arthur collapses onto his back next to Eames, weak and reeling, waiting for his vision to stop spotting. When he eventually looks over at Eames, who has managed to sit up, and is using that damn towel to wipe come off of his stomach, he thinks, _Next time I want to fuck his mouth_ , before he realizes that he's already thinking about the next time. And the time after that.

"Next time I want to fuck your mouth," he says, orgasm languid and apparently sex makes him honest. Eames' eyes trace over him, appraising, and he gives a husky laugh. He gets to his feet, and tugs Arthur up off of the floor after him, Arthur clutching at his pants to keep them from falling down around his ankles.

"If we can take this into the bedroom, you can do anything you want to me." Eames offers, standing naked and open. He still has the towel in one hand.

Arthur has (in dreams) been knocked on his ass, hit by a ton of bricks, and backed over by a truck. He knows the specifics of each. So he knows, without hyperbole, that this moment can only compare to a gunshot to the face. Overkill, completely unsubtle. But effective.

"Bedroom. Now." Arthur agrees, attacking the buttons on his shirt. He wants this. And why not? The damage has already been done.

Sometimes all it takes is one shot.

**Author's Note:**

> Me, 4 months ago: "I need something easy to fill my writing quota for the month. I think I'll write Inception porn based on some dubious premise."
> 
> Me, today: "Die, fic, die."


End file.
